


The Trial of Lady Morton

by burbankstorylady (wearenotamused)



Category: Winslow Boy (1999)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotamused/pseuds/burbankstorylady
Summary: A Winslow Boy sequel
Relationships: Robert Morton/Catherine Winslow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Curry and Morton

***{Author's Note: The famous last exchange of lines (how little you know about women/men, etc.) is not actually in the play by Terence Rattigan. However, it is such a delightful exchange, even though it is original to the 1999 screenplay by David Mamet, and so I unapologetically adopt the pretense of it being canon in order to proceed with my sequel.}**

Desmond Curry wanted nothing more than to be at the Winslow home in Courtfield Gardens on the night of the day that Right was done for Ronnie Winslow. He knew that the family would be celebrating, that Kate would be happy, and he longed to see her smiling again. Yet he stayed away from Courtfield Gardens and contented himself by only sending a note, addressed to Kate, full of his congratulations. He did not wish to make her feel uncomfortable, or pressured to give him an answer sooner than she liked, and he felt that his presence at that time would have just those evil effects. Instead of being exactly where he'd left his heart, therefore, he spent the evening at his club.

The Reform Club was second home to many bankers and lawyers in the City. It was a quiet, comfy place where a bachelor like Desmond Curry could enjoy a hot meal and peace and quiet. After his light supper, he went to the library and hoped to find his favorite chair and book, Pycroft's History and Science of the Game of Cricket. He did not expect-

"Sir Robert!"

"Ssh," came the furious hissing of the other languid gentlemen in the room.

Sir Robert Morton chuckled. He jerked his head a little as he lit a cigarette, indicating his wish for Desmond to follow him out of the room. They went to the smoking room and sat in chairs by the fireplace.

"I forgot you are a member, sir," Desmond said, with an embarrassed half-smirk. He also lit up. (The ex-cricketer in him recoiled at the damage he must be doing to his lungs.) 

"Ha! It's the only decent club in town."

"My brother insists that his is the best."

"Which one is that?"

"Diogenes."

Sir Robert laughed. "I wouldn't be caught dead there. And from what I understand the members are all dead inside."

More from a wish of easing the the tension in the air than from any genuine bemusement, Desmond extended the banter a little. "I've always liked Jules Verne better than Conan Doyle."

Sir Robert raised an eyebrow. "There I have to disagree with you, Curry. But then I suppose it won't come as a great shock that I'm more of a deduction man than adventurer."

Desmond shrugged. "I've been increasingly so myself, though occasionally I'm nostalgic for my adventurous days."

"The cricketer!," exclaimed Sir Robert. "I've heard you were quite good."

 _Quite good_ , thought Desmond a little resentfully, though he knew Sir Robert was only exercising his usual style of understatement. "Yes, I suppose I was quite good," Desmond managed to say rather cheerfully. "That's what I'm told at any rate."

Sir Robert blew a large smoke ring and became contemplative and they sat in silence for what felt like several minutes but was only in fact a few seconds. Then Sir Robert addressed Desmond gravely.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Curry."

"Oh?"

Sir Robert nodded. "A confidence has been broken."

Desmond immediately understood his meaning. Of course Sir Robert meant the secret he'd confided only in Desmond about being offered the eminence of Lord Chief Justice and turning it down in order to save the Winslow honor. "I am sorry, sir."

"Why on earth would you betray me to _her_ of all people?"

Desmond exhaled and looked around as if searching for the answer. "I can't think... except that she is the only person I _would_ ever betray a confidence to. I've never spoken so openly to anyone as I did to Miss Winslow today."

"Dear god!" Sir Robert was genuinely surprised. "Are you... in love?," he added in a hushed voice. "With Miss Winslow? Excuse my impertinence. It's none of my business. I simply did not have any idea that you were so close."

Desmond laughed, from embarrassment. "It's quite all right. And, yes, I am. It's no secret. Sir Robert, I've been in love with Miss Winslow ever since she was thirteen."

Sir Robert raised eyebrows now. "Indeed?"

"Indeed. I'm not proud of it. In fact, the family regard it as a standing joke, I'm afraid."

Sir Robert cringed. He hated seeing a man abuse himself so. He never would have allowed himself to be ridiculed, however softly, by the family of a woman he loved. But Sir Robert Morton was a different sort than Desmond Curry. Sir Robert would always declare himself openly, honestly, and with honor. He would never cower in shame or embarrassment.

"Good lord, Curry."

Desmond sighed. "I know you don't understand. No one could. I'm not like you and I'm very unlike Miss Winslow. The two of you, in truth, you are very alike. You stand up, you speak your minds. I've never been an orator. I practice law behind a desk and only because I'm too old and my shoulder is too worn out to play cricket any longer."

Even a Sir Robert Morton will be speechless after a confession like that. Silence prevailed again. At last, Sir Robert broke it while looking very poignantly at his companion. "Well, it seems you, er... spoke up today."

It took Desmond a moment to understand, but when he did, he chuckled softly to himself. "I suppose I did. But," with a questioning look at the baronet, "how did you know?"

"Well, you betrayed my confidence," said Sir Robert. "It certainly could not have been an isolated one and you said yourself that you spoke more openly than you have ever done." 

Desmond was apologetic again. "Yes. I honestly don't know why I told her a secret I had no business spreading further. We were discussing the case, naturally. Somehow or other, you came up."

"Somehow or other," Sir Robert repeated a little mockingly. "Nonsense. You were talking about me."

"You don't miss a trick, Sir Robert."

"No, I don't."

Desmond was thinking back to his conversation with Kate Winslow. He was ashamed of how he had behaved. Not in the proposal of marriage so much. He felt that he handled _that_ , at least, with dignity. But after... when they talked about the case and then he told her how "strange" he thought Sir Robert was, and she agreed, and they laughed a little about him being "fishlike," and Desmond somehow felt for the first time that they could be friends, and he lost his head. That's right. He lost his head. In a wild moment of feeling liked by the woman he loved, and wanting to impress her, he told her something interesting. A secret. A confidence of great import. 

Sir Robert suspected as much, even that a declaration of love, perhaps even a marriage proposal, had occurred between them. There was no question of who had done the declaring, of course. He was confident that Desmond Curry had, that day, taken a risk, a great one, and probably the only risk he'd ever taken that did not involve a wicket. _Good man_ , he silently commended him. And Sir Robert was genuinely proud of his brother esquire. As a gentleman, Curry's emancipation pleased him. They parted ways much as they had joined together: awkwardly, respectfully, a little apologetic on one side, conciliatory on the other. There were no hard feelings between them. Sir Robert was grateful to Curry as the conduit who had brought the Winslows into his life. Curry was grateful to Sir Robert on behalf of those very Winslows. A man like Curry will always be a little humbled and hold reverence for a man like Morton. And yet... a little part of each man felt a little hatred, or envy, toward the other. A man like Curry will always feel a little ashamed in the shadow of a man like Morton. A man like Morton, moreover, feels disgusted when a man like Curry dares to love a woman like Catherine Winslow. 


	2. Dickie's Advice

The Winslows hardly knew what to do with themselves after they'd spent the last 18 months fighting the very heart of the British Establishment, the Admiralty, and really, the very Crown that _is_ the Establishment. The ordeal had utterly wrecked Arthur Winslow's already declining health, seriously diminished the family finances, and put a chink in certain social prospects like marriage and Oxford degrees. "The Winslow boy" affair had been the sole reason for the end of Kate's engagement to John Watherstone of the Army regulars. It had been a blow, at first. However, on reflection now, Kate wondered if she had ever really been in love with John. Her mother, in a somewhat uncharacteristic bout of romantic insight, had said that Kate never acted like a woman in love. It was hard to know. John had been such a good friend for so long, so excellent a listener, and a fine sportsman for a joke. With John, she "defied augury" and he loved her, it seemed, in spite of her political philosophy. That was something. And now? He was all set to marry a general's daughter while she'd be lucky to snag Desmond Curry!

 _Dear Desmond_ , she thought as she walked to her place of employment. She worked as a organizing secretary for the West London branch of the Woman's Suffrage Association, for which she had been a volunteer for years and only recently became a paid employee at the whopping rate of two pounds a week. They were not a rich organization, but Kate preferred it above all the women suffrage movements. The WSPU was far too militant for her liking. She was not keen to put politicians in chains and burn down houses. 

When she arrived at work, she found the office in its usual state of disarray. This branch of the WSA was unfortunately in _the_ most expensive district in one of the most expensive metropolitan centers in the world; they were lucky to rent a set of cheap rooms above a grocer. A few of the women remembered to congratulate her for Ronnie's victory. Sophie Emerson giggled inappropriately and told her she was "damn lucky" that the whole affair happened, for otherwise she'd have joined that heinous form of chattel slavery that was legitimized in the name of marriage. Kate never cared for Sophie Emerson. No one did. But there was no time to dignify the silly girl's comment because, prominent in everyone's business was the case of Anne Harris and her bid to get her textile factory girls the vote in their textile factory union. Letters, petitions, memoranda, and inches in the newspapers had to be churned out in record time. The hours flew by. Kate organized the minutes for all of the branch's meetings on the Harris case, a cigarette always smashed between her fingers. She spoke to the private secretary of the Duchess of Connaught, hoping to get the royal patronage behind the cause. Dickie turned up, wanting to do lunch, and Kate was tempted to pass, but he pressed her so charmingly. Her friend Betsy backed him up. "You should get out, Kate. You are looking a bit peaky."

"Oh thank you," Kate said caustically.

"It's true though," offered Dickie. "We all need rest after the last 18 months of hell. Come on, Kate. Feminism won't perish if you take a thirty minute break for tea."

She slammed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray on her desk and pretended to be annoyed as she got up and readied herself for the outdoors.

She had a salad at a nearby cafe. Dickie had cake. She told him all about Desmond's proposal.

"Good lord, you're not going to do it, are you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I might. He's very nice."

"He's nice, but he's also pathetic, to say nothing of his age. Good lord, he must ancient!"

"He is not ancient." Finished with her salad, she lit up a cigarette. Dickie held the lighter for her before lighting up his own stick.

"I do wish we'd all try to be nicer to Desmond," she said as she blew smoke up toward the ceiling.

Dickie scoffed. "Please don't do it, Kate. You can do so much better. I thought John was an ass.."

"You did not!"

"Well, I thought he was all right until he jilted you."

"He did not _jilt_ me. You mustn't say such things. It was complicated."

And Dickie did look truly remorseful. "I am sorry. I'm just so annoyed with everyone. They're all so disappointing."

"I disagree. I feel that everyone I know has been exceeding expectations and making me feel like a fool. What's wrong with me that I can't love someone like Desmond Curry, who is kind and who loves me? And I got it so very wrong where Sir Robert Morton is concerned."

"Now there's a chap I could see you married to."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. It's obvious he likes you. The way he went on about hats... or something."

"I should never have told you that."

"Chin up, Kate. You'll be all right. As long as you _don't_ marry Desmond Curry."

She couldn't help laughing. Her brother had the most extraordinary knack for making a joke out of everything. It was exasperating sometimes, but just now it happened to be exactly the thing she needed. She had been brooding far too much.

"You'll just have to give up the feminism."

"Fat chance."

"Well, it's the only way you'll get Morton to marry you."

"I don't want to get Morton to marry me. And besides, Desmond doesn't mind 'the feminism' as you call it. Which makes him vastly superior to John. Even he was squeamish about it."

"Every man is. Except the ones you ought _not_ to marry! Better to be an old maid than to marry an old has been like Desmond Curry."

"Enough about me. What's this about being disappointed in people? Who has failed lately to meet the most high and lofty ideals of Dickie Winslow?"

"Where do I start? Father."

"Dickie! Don't you dare!"

"Pipe down. I'm aware of Father's saintly status. But you have to grant me that it's all been highly unfair, everything to do with Ronnie, and the most exasperating bit has been that Ronnie has suffered the least of the consequences."

"Well, why should he suffer any of it? He did nothing wrong. And, no, I don't grant you anything. Need I remind you that Ronnie was set to become a naval officer."

Dickie was not having any of that. "The consequence for him, Kate, has been to enroll in one of the poshest schools in England. Meanwhile, I'm out of Oxford."

"That's your own doing, Dickie." She gave him a knowing look and he, knowing that she was thinking about the gramophone business, smirked in spite of his annoyed attitude.

"I know," he reluctantly agreed with her. "That's the awfullest bit. The fact that I took it all for granted. And... Edwina..."

"Edwina, yes, how is Miss Dunn?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. She ended it."

"Oh Dickie, I'm so sorry."

"I don't think she much liked my prospects, or my residence in Reading. And when I told her I'd joined the territorials, well that clinched it."

"Chin up, Dickie. There's bound to be a Desmond Curry for you too."

The look Dickie gave his sister in reply to that remark was murderous.


End file.
